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by IgnisEtGlacies13



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7120417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnisEtGlacies13/pseuds/IgnisEtGlacies13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Robb’s howl of pain prompted him to glance at the young Stark boy. He was also clutching his left wrist, but between his small fingers Theon could see black lines etched across the skin.</i><br/><br/>No. No, it can’t be.<br/><br/><i>Theon slowly removed his hand, exposing his wrist to the frigid air. The words <i>Robb Stark</i> shone like ebony in the pale winter sunlight, where there had been naught but unblemished skin before Robb had touched him.</i><br/><br/>Or: When Theon is taken to Winterfell after the Greyjoy Rebellion, he discovers his soulmate is Robb Stark.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



 

The forbidding grey sky loomed above the small group of northmen, the snow falling over the desolate, frozen land in sheets. Theon shivered as the cold wind blew directly into his face, sending shivers racing down his spine. He’d long since lost the feeling in his fingers, the nerves having been frozen away and replaced by a dull, lingering ache in the joints. It was a miracle that he’d somehow managed to continue clutching the reins of his horse whilst it plowed through the thick white drifts blanketing the ground.

Theon sniffed quietly and looked around, but the featureless landscape meant nothing to him. He wanted to ask if they were almost at Lord Stark’s home yet, but the grim scowls of the northmen terrified him – especially the ones who didn’t bother to lower their voices around him, and openly mocked his father and the ironborn who'd been killed in the rebellion.

Fortunately, Lord Stark noticed his inquisitive look – or his constant shivering – and answered his unspoken question. “We’re almost at Winterfell, lad,” he said. “If all goes well, we shall arrive before nightfall.”

Theon nodded silently, tamping down the blend of relief and nerves in his stomach. He was excited by the prospect of his own room and a warm bed to sleep in, but now that he knew Winterfell was near, the dread that had first surfaced when his father had agreed to turn him over to Lord Stark returned with even greater force. Lord Stark had assured him that despite his hostage status he’d be treated well, but if the frosty reception he’d gotten from the other northmen was any indication, Theon doubted his ability to keep that promise. 

Lord Stark’s prediction rang true – their party arrived at the gates of Winterfell long before the sun set. When the guards saw that their lord had returned, they hastened away to inform Lady Stark and her children. Theon gazed around with wide eyes as they trotted through the village, his horse’s hooves clattering against the stones. He couldn’t help staring at the massive grey castle, listening to the babble of voices, and observing the generally happy atmosphere so different from the solemnity of Pyke.

Then he realized the many of the people had stopped what they were doing to look at him curiously. The fur cloak Lord Stark had loaned him hid his black shirt with the gold kraken adorned on the front, but it was still obvious that he was an outsider, a stranger not from the North, and he shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He wondered whether they could smell fear like real wolves, whether that was the reason they dared to cluster near his horse and whisper amongst themselves. 

When they neared the front entrance of the castle, the northmen began to dismount. Theon quickly followed suit, slipping off the back of his horse and landing awkwardly on the hard ground. He grimaced as his frozen toes absorbed the brunt of the fall, and he rubbed his hands together in a futile attempt to warm his fingers.

“You’ll be a lot warmer once we're inside,” said Lord Stark, coming up beside him and beckoning for him to follow. Theon hurried after him, struggling to keep up with the man’s longer strides, but before they could walk inside a woman with long auburn hair stepped out.

From the way the woman smiled and embraced Lord Stark, Theon guessed she was Lady Stark. “Welcome back,” she said softly.  

“It’s good to be back,” said Lord Stark in a more affectionate tone than Theon had yet heard from him. “I –” A crying squall interrupted him, and only then did Theon notice the small bundle in Lady Stark’s arms. He vaguely remembered Lord Stark mentioning that his wife had recently given birth to a baby girl.

“Shh,” Lady Stark murmured, rocking her daughter, and when she lifted her eyes again she caught sight of him. Theon froze, fighting the impulse to hide behind the nearest wall.

“...Ned, who is this?” she asked.

“This is Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy,” replied Lord Stark, motioning for him to come closer.

Theon did so reluctantly, dipping his head respectfully like Lord Stark had instructed him to. “Lady Stark,” he muttered.

Lady Stark nodded back, but shot her husband a questioning look. Lord Stark sighed and pulled her aside, out of Theon’s earshot, but Theon didn’t need to hear them to know what he was saying. That after King Robert’s forces had effortlessly defeated the ironborn and besieged Pyke, he’d ordered Theon’s father to hand over his son as a promise of good behaviour in return for keeping his title and lands. Would he tell her how Theon’s mother had screamed not to give him up, that the Starks would kill him? How Asha had hugged him for the first and likely only time? How after they’d sealed the agreement, Balon had left the throne room without a second glance at his last living son?

Theon was so lost in thought that he failed to see the two boys race out of the castle in his direction until they were standing right in front of him.

“Hello!” said the nearest one. Judging by his bright blue eyes and red hair the same shade as Lady Stark’s, Theon assumed this was Lord Stark’s trueborn son. “I’m Robb, and –” He pointed at the dark-haired boy standing a few inches behind him. “That’s Jon. Who are you?”

Some of his buried pride flared back to life, and Theon lifted his chin. “I’m Theon Greyjoy,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse from days of disuse. “Last living son of Balon Gre –”

“You’re a _Greyjoy_?” Robb interrupted.

His bravado immediately vanished. “Yes,” answered Theon, waiting for the Stark heir to insult his family, or ask for a description on how the ironborn army was crushed by King Robert’s, or –

“Is it true that you can turn into a giant squid?”

Theon blinked. “What?”

“Ser Rodrik said the Greyjoy sigil is a kraken because they can transform into one at will and swim beneath the sea whenever they want,” said Robb eagerly.   

Jon spoke up for the first time. “Robb, he wasn’t serious. I heard him laughing about it with the other soldiers afterwards.”

Robb’s face fell. “So you can’t turn into a kraken?”

“No,” said Theon bluntly, but the disappointed look Robb gave him tugged at his heart. He really shouldn’t care about the feelings of some four-year-old Stark when said Stark’s father took him from his home, but he couldn’t help feeling bad about shattering Robb’s illusion. The memories of his father and older brothers taunting his own childhood beliefs flashed in his mind, and he sighed, bending down to look Robb in the eye. 

“I can’t turn into a kraken, but Greyjoys _can_ swim beneath the sea whenever we want,” said Theon seriously. “We learn to swim before we can even walk, and when we’re older we take out boats to explore the sea.”

Jon eyed him dubiously, but Robb perked up. “I’ve never seen the sea.”

Theon’s mouth curled up in a small smile.“Perhaps one day I’ll show you.”

"I’d like that,” said Robb, beaming. “We can show you around Winterfell, in return! Jon and I know all the best places. Come with us!”  

Before Theon could move, Robb reached out and grabbed his hand.

A bolt of white-hot agony seared through Theon’s left wrist. He cried out, instinctively yanking his hand out of Robb’s grasp and clapping it over the area, but the burning sensation was already fading.

Robb’s howl of pain prompted him to glance at the young Stark boy. He was also clutching his left wrist, but between his small fingers Theon could see black lines etched across the skin.

_No. No, it can’t be._

Theon slowly removed his hand, exposing his wrist to the frigid air. The words _Robb Stark_ shone like ebony in the pale winter sunlight, where there had been naught but unblemished skin before Robb had touched him. He gingerly pressed the branded name, expecting another burst of pain, but the dull ache it caused was barely noticeable.

Theon remembered his mother telling him that everyone had a soulmate, but since soulmates could only find each other by touch, not everyone was lucky enough to find them – that if he was ever fortunate enough to meet his soulmate, he should rejoice. But Theon couldn’t bring himself to rejoice, not when his soulmate was Robb Stark. If he lived and eventually returned to Pyke to claim his birthright, how would he be able to face his father with his enemy’s son as his soulmate?

As he internally panicked, Lord and Lady Stark rushed to their son’s side. Jon remained rooted to the spot, his shocked gaze flicking between his half-brother and Theon. Even the crowd that had watched their procession into Winterfell had fallen silent, leaving only the howling wind to match the pounding in his ears.

Lady Stark handed Sansa to Lord Stark and knelt in front of Robb, raising his forearm to eye level. Theon stepped closer to watch as she brushed her son’s fingers aside, uncovering his own name – _Theon Greyjoy_ – written across Robb’s thin wrist like inky veins.

Lady Stark gasped and turned her head to stare at him. Theon swallowed and looked away, only to be confronted with the steely eyes of Lord Stark. For the first time, he thought he saw a flicker of surprise in their grey depths. And if he looked over his shoulder, Theon knew he’d find most of Winterfell staring at him with shock and revulsion.

He hesitated for a mere second before darting past the Stark family and fleeing into the castle.

 

\---

 

The fiery warmth of the Winterfell kitchens, in stark contrast to the raging chill outside the castle walls, made Robb very reluctant to leave. All the cooks were busy with the feast celebrating his father’s return and the successful end of the Greyjoy rebellion, and the heat from the wood oven seemed to have permeated the air. It was the only place in the castle where he couldn't feel the damp air seeping in from between the stones in the wall. 

Robb lingered in front of the wood oven for another minute, keeping his hands above the flames, before reluctantly moving away. As much as he would like to stay where it was warm, he’d assured his parents that he would find Theon Greyjoy – his _soulmate_ – before the feast finished, and he’d already checked every corner of the kitchens for any sign of him. After enlisting Jon’s help, the two had agreed to split up to find him, with Jon covering the west side of the castle and Robb the east.

He ran out of the kitchens, dodging past the legs of various servants, and hurried down the hallway. As he scampered through the twisting corridors, he wondered what exactly had made Theon run away from him and his family. When his parents had first told him about soulmates, they’d mentioned how happy they’d been when they'd first touched and their names had become marked on each others’ wrists. Robb had been excited, hopeful that one day he would meet his soulmate – but all his excitement had vanished when Theon’s face had transformed into a look of sheer terror before racing away as if Robb’s name on his wrist had summoned the Stranger.  

Robb had a feeling he might know why Theon was so apprehensive about having him as a soulmate, but his current, more pressing problem was where Theon had disappeared. It was his first time at Winterfell - he didn’t know the secret shortcuts and passageways that he and Jon did, and he would have avoided all the rooms with people already inside. Yet Robb had already checked inside all the empty rooms, and found no Theon. 

“Where could he be?” he whispered to himself as he surveyed Maester Luwin’s study. The old maester had left to join Robb’s father for the feast. It was the perfect place to hide, what with the filled bookshelves scattered around the room and the oaken desk laden with even more books. Robb looked around the room, searching every possible place where Theon could reasonably fit and hide, but there was no sign of him.  

Robb left the room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it and sinking to the floor. He tucked his hands under his chin and thought hard. Assuming that Jon hadn’t found him either, since he would have alerted Robb if he had, and Robb had scoured the entire eastern side, the only possible place Theon could have disappeared off to was –

Outside the castle.

He hadn't even considered the possibility of Theon sneaking past them and doubling back outside. Robb shot up and dashed through the front entrance, where a light snowfall was beginning to coat the ground in a fresh layer of white. He paused, looking around wildly, until his attention was snagged by a trail of footprints left in the snow. Robb followed them, tracking his own boots in the imprints Theon had left behind, until they stopped at the entrance to the Winterfell crypt.

It made sense. Theon must have realized they'd been searching for him inside the castle, and the nearest warm place outside was indeed the crypt. Robb took a few steps inside, and once his eyes adjusted to the dark, stifling air, he could make out a small form curled up in a corner, knees drawn to his chest and eyes closed.

Robb’s spirits plummeted. He’d held onto the faint hope that Theon had just needed time to process that they were soulmates and that he’d intended to rejoin them later, but from his position it was painfully clear he wouldn’t mind staying down in the crypt for gods knew how long. 

He picked his way across the loose stones and squatted in front of him. Theon’s eyes fluttered open, red and wet from crying, and when they met Robb’s he buried his face in between his knees.

“Theon?” Robb called timidly.

“What do you want?” came the muffled response.

“For you to come inside the castle with me. It’s freezing out here, even in the crypt and with a fur cloak on.”

Theon shook his head. “I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

In answer, Theon extended his forearm and pulled the sleeve up slightly to reveal the soulmate mark bearing Robb’s name. “Because of this.”

“Is it because you don’t want me as your soulmate?” Robb asked carefully.

“No! Well, sort of, but –” Theon blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re five, aren’t you? I don’t know how much of this you’d understand.”

“I’m _five_  – not _one_ ,” said Robb indignantly. “I can understand anything you tell me.”

Theon regarded him with a look that Robb saw all too often on the faces of his parents, Maester Luwin, or anyone older than him when he asked them something and they replied with _You’re too young to understand_. Robb huffed and moved to sit beside Theon, pressing their sides together when Theon didn’t flinch away as he'd feared he would.

“I’m not a baby,” Robb repeated. “I’ll understand.”

Theon exhaled softly and leaned his head back against the rock wall, the sharp _thunk_ echoing in the silence of the crypt. “Fine.” He laced his fingers together tightly until the knuckles turned white. “First, you do know that, uh, men and men aren’t often soulmates?”

Robb nodded. “Mother said they’re not common, and that some people think they shouldn’t exist.”

“Yes.” Theon’s eyes glowed like a shadowcat’s in the dark, luminous and haunted. “My father, he’s one of those people. Most of the ironborn have the same opinion. I may be the heir to the Iron Islands, but how can I ever declare myself as their ruler when I inform them that my soulmate is the son of the man who defeated them and took me hostage _?_ They’d sooner sacrifice me to the Drowned God then let me lead them.”

Robb frowned. “They don’t sound like very nice people.”

That drew a soft chuckle from Theon. “No, they’re not,” he admitted. “But they will be my people. As long as my soulmate mark with the name _Robb Stark_ doesn’t inspire them to kill me at first sight.”   

Robb glanced down. Even in the dim light of the crypts, he could make out his own name engraved on Theon’s wrist, partially covered by his sleeve. His forearm was quivering slightly, and only then did he realize how badly Theon was shivering despite the fur cloak draped over his shoulders. He guessed the weather on Pyke wasn’t half as cold as Winterfell, made worse by the fact that it was the middle of the cold season. Robb wanted to drag him back inside the castle, cover him with extra furs, and sit him at the feast that was likely halfway over by then, but he could tell from his expression that Theon would refuse to budge from his spot on the cold floor.

_Well, I’m just going to have to change his mind._

“The ironborn,” began Robb. “Do they usually find their soulmates?”

Theon’s forehead creased. “No. We’re raiders – we rarely spend time with mainlanders, so unless the two soulmates are both ironborn or their soulmate happens to live near the coast, they’d never meet, let alone touch."   

“So when you go back to Pyke, just hide my name and tell them you haven’t met your soulmate,” said Robb simply.

Theon paused. “I’d have to cover it all the time, but…that could actually work,” he said slowly. “Unless your father writes to mine and tells him –” 

“I’ll ask him not to,” promised Robb.

Theon offered him a tiny smile. “That’s probably for the best. If my father read that in a letter, he’d blow up.” His smile faded and he asked, “What about _your_ father, though? Neither he nor your mother looked all that happy about me being your soulmate.” 

“They’re not thrilled,” Robb confessed. When his parents had glimpsed Theon’s name on his wrist, he knew their stunned expressions weren’t exactly the positive reaction he'd been hoping for. “But they’re happy if I’m happy, and since I like you, I know they will too.” 

“That’s not – wait. You like me?”

Robb wondered why Theon sounded so confused by the sentiment. “Of course I do.”

“Robb, you met me less than an hour ago.”

Robb shrugged. “So? You seem like a nice person, and I think your father and your people are stupid if they’re going to overlook that just because I’m your soulmate. I see no reason to _dislike_ you.” He didn’t add that despite the fact that Theon was four years older than him, when he’d rode into Winterfell he’d looked more terrified than Robb could ever remember seeing someone, and even before learning they were soulmates, he’d felt protective of the older boy.  

Theon still looked bewildered by the prospect of a near-stranger _liking him_ , and Robb decided he’d have to further explain his reasons later. At least he had the next few years to prove it to him.

Scrambling back to his feet, he held out his hand. “ _Now_ will you come inside with me? Jon must be worried out of his mind now that we’ve both disappeared and if we get to the Great Hall quickly enough, there might be some warm food left over."  

Theon stared at Robb’s hand, long enough that Robb was afraid he wouldn’t take it. Then he tentatively curled his icy fingers through his own, his bitterly cold palm making contact with Robb’s.

A grin split Robb’s face. He took a step back and heaved with all his strength, but even with him standing and Theon sitting, he was not much taller and his constant tugging proved fruitless. A wry smirk touched Theon’s lips and the next time Robb pulled, he rose to his feet and willingly followed him out of the crypt, across the snow-flecked courtyard, and into the castle.

 

\---

 

_Ten Years Later_

“Robb, we can’t do this right now,” hissed Theon, but even as he spoke his hands came up to grip Robb’s shoulders tightly, belying his words. 

Robb smiled, his eyes glinting deviously. “The King’s party hasn’t been spotted by the sentries yet, meaning we have plenty of time.”  

“We’re in the _middle_ of the _hall._ ” Theon couldn’t believe he was the one having to be Robb’s voice of reason when it was typically the other way around.

Robb rolled his eyes and dragged Theon over until his back was pressed against the wall. He felt the sharp edges of the stone dig into his skin, but the pain barely registered in his mind. “Satisfied?”

“We could still be seen,” Theon pointed out.    

“We’re soulmates,” Robb countered. “It’s not like we’re hiding our relationship. Besides, almost everyone in Winterfell has caught us at some point.” 

“That’s beside the poi –” Theon froze. “Wait. Does _almost everyone_ include your mother?”

Robb thought about it. “Yes, she walked in on us last month in the library.” At the horrified look on Theon’s face he added, “It’s fine, she left as soon as she saw us. And she hasn’t brought it up yet, so I don’t think she’s planning to.”

“Seven hells,” mumbled Theon. He and Lady Stark had never been on the best of terms, and him ravishing her son was hardly going to earn her approval.  

Robb laughed, the exhale of air tickling Theon’s collarbone. “If it’s any consolation, my father hasn’t caught us yet,” he said.

Theon blanched at the thought and opened his mouth to object further, but Robb grasped his shirt collar and pulled him down into a fierce kiss, effectively shutting down the rational part of Theon’s mind. His hands moved from Robb’s shoulders and wound around his neck as he returned the kiss, sliding his tongue into Robb’s mouth.

Theon used to frequent the sole brothel in Winterfell, using what coin he had on whores, but none of them had ever moaned his name the way Robb did, soft and passionate and needy, in a way that never failed to arouse Theon more than any whore ever could. Soulmates were supposed to evoke more intense emotions from each other than with other people, but Theon had never quite believed it until Robb had crept into his bedroom a year ago with a nervous but determined look in his eyes.   

When Robb broke the kiss and began trailing a line of messy kisses down Theon’s throat, he groaned and tried to push Robb’s head aside. “Robb, I can’t present myself to the King with bruises on my neck,” he panted.

He felt Robb grin against his skin. “You’ll be in the second row behind me. No one will notice it.”

“ _Everyone_ will notice it,” argued Theon. “It’s more conspicuous than that fucking direwolf of yours…” His voice trailed off into a broken moan as Robb ignored him and sucked a mark into his throat, close to where his pulse was throbbing. Robb’s hands moved to settle on his hips, his fingers straying dangerously close to the front of Theon’s breeches –

A cough behind them sent them springing apart.

“Jon,” said Robb, his face turning red. Despite all his previous confidence, he looked completely embarrassed at having been caught by his half-brother.  “I, uh, didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” said Jon shortly. “Father wants to see you in his study.”

Robb blinked. “Me? Why?”

Jon shrugged. “He wants to tell you something before the King arrives."

“Very well.” Robb glanced at Theon. “I’ll see you later?”

Theon nodded and grinned suggestively. “We can pick up where we left off.”

Jon’s face screwed up in disgust, but Robb looked pleased, shooting Theon a quick answering grin before heading in the direction of Lord Stark’s study.

As soon as Robb disappeared around the corner, Jon blurted, “Are you lying with him?”

Theon cocked an eyebrow. _Huh._ _This must be the first time the bastard’s caught us._ “Why, do you want lessons?”

Jon glared at him rather than deigning to reply. Personally, Theon thought he could use the lessons – who knew what the bastard would end up doing in the future? – but he figured Jon would sooner look happy than listen to him discuss what exactly he did with Robb in great detail. 

“Yes, we’re fucking,” said Theon after Jon did nothing more than glare at him. “Your precious half-brother is no longer an untouched virgin. If you’re planning to threaten me with my life now, you should recall that your father has already staked his claim to it.”

Jon frowned, but the expression looked more thoughtful than menacing. “I merely wanted to confirm that if you are, then you’re no longer seducing the kitchen maids or visiting the Winterfell tavern to pick up whores whenever it strikes your fancy.”

Theon wasn’t surprised by the inquiry, not when he used to loudly boast of his conquests – particularly around Robb and Jon. He hoisted himself off the wall, wincing as the bones in his back protested the movement. “You don’t need to worry about me sneaking off to fuck someone else behind Robb’s back,” he said. “I promised Robb I would not.”

A flash of surprise passed across Jon’s face. “Truly?”

“I’m not lying,” said Theon, annoyance colouring his tone.

He could see why he’d be suspicious, but Jon hadn’t found his soulmate. He didn’t understand how even just thinking about fucking anyone else when months ago, Robb had quietly asked him not to, was tantamount to ripping his own heart out. He didn’t know that Theon didn’t _want_ to spend time with anyone else when he could have Robb, because all those fucking details he’d ever learned about soulmates having a bond had turned out to be true.  

Jon regarded him with contemplative stare that Theon matched defiantly, his dark eyes boring into Jon’s grey ones, until the bastard’s mouth twisted and he nodded once. “You may be a compulsive liar, Greyjoy, but I believe you this time – only the gods know why.”  

Theon smiled smugly. “Your concern for Robb’s well-being is so very touching, Snow.”

To Theon’s slight disappointment, he didn’t fall for the taunt. He merely looked at him like Theon was a puzzle he wanted to solve, but couldn’t quite work out how the irregular pieces fit together. “I don’t trust you either,” he said finally. “But Robb is your soulmate, and I trust that you care about _him_ , if not anyone else.” 

“The feeling is mutual,” said Theon. “Though I really pity whoever your soulmate is. Who wants to be stuck with a mopey bastard? I'd rather never meet you." 

He expected Jon to become angry, but he simply rolled his eyes in exasperation. Theon had an inkling that Jon put extra effort into tolerating him only because he was Robb’s soulmate. He wasn’t complaining – otherwise, Jon would have been twice as despondent all the fucking time.

“Well, if this _utterly fascinating_ conversation is over, I think I’ll take my leave,” said Theon sarcastically, and turned to walk away.  

“You might want to go the other way,” Jon called out.

Theon stopped in his tracks and glanced back. “Excuse me?”

“Your chambers are the other way,” said Jon. “If I were you, I’d find a doublet with a higher neckline.” A tiny smirk graced his features. “You were right – it _is_ more conspicuous than a direwolf.”

Theon instinctively raised his hand to touch the tender, darkened patches of skin that Robb’s teeth had left on his throat. “That’s – that is none of your concern, bastard,” he spat, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment.

That annoying smirk on Jon’s face widened. “Perhaps not,” he acknowledged. “It was only a suggestion…but I bet Robb would advise the same, and considering that he _is_ your soulmate, he would be understandably concerned.”

Before Theon could think of a proper comeback, Jon had stepped around him and continued walking down the hall. Theon shot one last glare at his retreating back, dropping his hand from his neck.

 _Fuck him_ , he thought viciously before pivoting on his heel and heading towards his chambers.

When Robb asked, shortly before the king’s arrival, why he’d changed doublets, Theon muttered something about not liking the original one and ignored the small snort Jon emitted from beside him.  

 

\---

 

Robb wasn’t surprised to find Theon practicing his archery the day before the royal family was set to return to King’s Landing. The weather was warmer than it’d been all week and Robb had a firsthand knowledge of how much Theon hated the cold - it was obvious he would take advantage of the warmth and head outside. There wasn’t the slightest breeze to disrupt his shots, even though Robb was sure every arrow would find the centre of the target regardless of any wind. Plus, the back of the courtyard was currently the only part of Winterfell that wasn’t swarming with servants, guards, Baratheons, or Starks – people Theon tended to avoid whenever possible.

Grey Wind raced from his place at Robb’s side to crash into Theon’s leg, nearly knocking him over. His bow slipped from his grasp, but he managed to catch it before it struck the ground. However, the quiver at his feet toppled over, sending the cluster of arrows spilling onto the ground.

“Fuck,” groaned Theon as he eyed the fallen arrows.

Robb cringed. “Sorry!” he said, giving Grey Wind a stern look before dropping to his knees and shoving the arrows back into the quiver. Theon watched in bemusement as Robb stuck the last one back in and straightened the quiver near Theon’s leg.

“Robb, what are you doing here?”  asked Theon, ignoring the direwolf nosing his boots. “And how did you find me?" 

Robb tapped his left wrist, where Theon’s name was inked onto his skin. “Somehow, I can feel it whenever you pick up a bow and start shooting arrows,” he said, standing up and crossing his arms. “And even if I didn’t, where else would you be? As for what I’m doing here – midday has passed. You missed lunch.”

Theon shrugged as he grabbed another arrow and nocked it. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Robb had a feeling that Theon skipping lunch had less to do with the state of his hunger and more to do with the king and queen’s presence at their table. During the welcoming feast, when King Robert had noticed Theon, he’d immediately began reminiscing how he and his army had crushed the Greyjoy Rebellion and Theon had vanished shortly thereafter. But Robb knew Theon would just laugh it off if he pressed the issue.

“Well, I thought you might be hungry by now,” he said instead. “So I stopped by the kitchen and brought you these.” 

He opened his other hand, revealing two lemoncakes wrapped in a grey cloth that Robb had borrowed from Gage. Theon glanced at them, then refocused on the target. “You seem to have mistaken me for Sansa,” he said, loosing the arrow.

Robb watched the arrow bury itself in the centre of the target – as it always did – and said, “Sansa isn’t in the mood for lemoncakes right now. She’s still upset about Joffrey not being her soulmate.”

“Personally, I’d pitch myself off the library tower if Joffrey Baratheon was my soulmate,” Theon remarked.

Robb cracked a smile. “Thank the gods that he isn’t – but it’s not just that. After Sansa had finished eating lunch and left the table, she tripped and the Hound caught her, and, well, apparently they’re soulmates.”

“Your sister’s soulmate is _Sandor Clegane_?”

“Yes,” sighed Robb. “And I don’t think anyone is happy about it. Sansa burst into tears and fled to her room, the Hound said he needed a pint or ten and stumbled away, and everyone else was too stupefied to do anything.”

“Huh,” said Theon, nocking another arrow. “Will Sansa still be wed to Joffrey?”

“Father has delayed it. He told King Robert that he wants some time to think over his options,” said Robb. “But I didn’t come find you to discuss Sansa.”

He stepped closer to Theon, lifting the hand holding the lemoncakes closer to his face. Theon eyed them warily.

“I told you –” began Theon.

“I’ve seen you eat them before.”

Theon’s mouth fell open. He quickly covered it up with a chuckle, but Robb had seen the momentary flare of panic in his eyes.   

“It was during that time you were sleeping with one of the kitchen maids,” Robb added, and Theon abruptly closed his mouth. “I once spotted her bringing lemoncakes to your chambers.”

“And _you_ remember that?” asked Theon incredulously. “ _I_ hardly remember that, and I was the one fucking her.”  

Robb ignored the sting of jealousy that always accompanied any reminder of Theon’s old trysts and concentrated on holding the lemoncakes tantalizingly close to Theon’s nose, letting the sticky sweet smell waft towards him.

Theon swallowed once, then turned away and let his arrow fly. “I don’t want them,” he said roughly as the arrow struck the target with a sharp thwack.  “If Sansa doesn’t want them either, go find some other girl to feed.”

Robb cocked his head to one side in confusion. The fact that they’d been close for years, especially since they were soulmates, meant Robb could tell Theon _did_ want to eat the lemoncakes. So why was Theon so insistent on him bringing the treats to Sansa or another girl – 

_Oh._

Robb lowered his hand a fraction. “You know, liking lemoncakes doesn’t automatically make you womanly,” he said carefully. “Regardless of what we do in bed.”

Theon’s head shot up, eyes wide in alarm, and Robb knew he was right.

“I never said that.”

“No, but you’re thinking it.”

Theon didn’t deny it. Robb sighed. “Theon, it doesn’t matter which position you’re in when we – lie together. I’ve never thought any less of you for it, and you shouldn’t either.”

“Do we have to talk about this _now_?” asked Theon pointedly, gesturing with his bow at the few townspeople walking by. 

“Eat the lemoncake and we can discuss it later.”

Theon glared at him for several long moments, dark eyes burning, before relenting and dropping his bow against the stone wall. He plucked one of the lemoncakes from Robb’s hand. “You’ll be eating the other one?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m not going to let you eat both and become as fat as King Robert,” Robb teased.

Theon punched him in the shoulder, but he was noticeably less tense as he wolfed down the lemoncake in three bites, and Robb considered it a success.

 

\---

 

“Do you think I made the right decision?”

Theon’s eyes flicked from the mass of armies flocking into Winterfell to Robb’s anxious face. His fingers were nervously tapping the edge of the sill, and the incessant rhythmic sound was like a nail being driven into Theon’s skull.  

“What, calling the banners? You had no choice – they arrested your father.” Theon patted Robb’s hand comfortingly, resting enough weight on it to prevent any further tapping. “All of the northern houses are sworn to defend him." 

“Mayhaps, but I have no experience commanding that many men, or thinking of war strategies, or leading soldiers than I into battle -"

“Your lord father has been preparing you for this your whole life,” interrupted Theon. “Yes, he probably didn’t foresee that you’d employ your training so soon after he left for King’s Landing, but you’re not alone. You know I’ll stand behind you.”

Robb hesitated. “You don’t have to join me. You could stay here in Winterfell – Maester Luwin would welcome your aid in taking care of Bran and Rickon.”

“Maester Luwin doesn’t trust me, same as everyone here that isn’t you,” Theon said bluntly. “Believe me, I’d much rather be with you.”

“Fine,” acknowledged Robb, giving him a tiny smile. “And – thank you.”

Theon grinned back, but when Robb resumed his lookout over increasing number of soldiers marching into Winterfell, his grin faded and he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that perhaps Robb was right, that neither of them were truly ready for war.  

 

\---

 

Robb urged his horse faster as he galloped beside his mother back to their temporary camp, his mind whirling from the information his mother had relayed regarding Lord Walder's terms for allowing them to cross the Twins. Their small party came to a halt and Robb dismounted, his eyes immediately searching for Theon. He located him leaving their shared tent, a grin touching his lips at the sight of him, and Robb’s heart twisted.

He pushed through the horde that was his army, hurried to Theon’s side, and dragged him back into the tent. Grey Wind followed at his heels, stopping at the entrance of the tent to give them privacy.  

“Robb, what are you –” Theon surveyed his face, and Robb’s misery must have been painfully clear because Theon’s expression swiftly changed from mystified to worried. “What happened?”

Robb took a deep breath, steeling his emotions lest he break down in front of Theon. His hands curled into fists, and he desperately wished Walder Frey was in front of him so he could punch him in the face.

“My mother negotiated a deal with Lord Walder that adds most of his forces to my army, and allows us to cross the Twins," he said bitterly. 

“All right,” said Theon with a nod. “Since I’m fairly certain you’re not unhappy because of that, what did he want in exchange?” 

“Two of his grandsons will be fostered at Winterfell,” recited Robb. “Olyvar Frey is to be my squire. When Arya comes of age she will marry Elmar Frey –”

Theon snorted. “She’s not going to like that.”

“That’s what I told Mother,” said Robb, trying for a smile and failing.

“Is that all?”

“…No,” said Robb reluctantly. “When the war is over, I am to – marry one of Lord Walder’s daughters.”

Theon stared at him blankly.

When he answered, his voice was so low Robb barely heard him. “Did your mother tell him you have a soulmate?”

“She did,” sighed Robb. “It didn’t matter. Lord Walder never found his soulmate, and I don’t think he understands the bond that’s formed…Mother said he was very insistent that _I_ marry a Frey woman, and that he thought he was being generous by allowing me to pick my bride.”

Theon nodded, still looking like he’d taken an unexpected blow to the head. He didn’t ask if there was no other option, because he already knew the answer just as well as Robb - they needed to cross the Twins, and he had no choice but to agree to whatever concessions Walder Frey demanded. Robb silently cursed him all over again.

“It’ll be fine,” said Theon finally. “Truly. Yes, you now have to marry a Frey, and for your sake I hope her looks don’t mirror her father’s –”

 _Only Theon would make a jape_ now _._

“– but it’s not like we were ever going to marry each other, right?”

“No, but…” Robb trailed off helplessly. He knew they were never destined to marry – despite the fact that there were a handful of soulmates of the same sex in history, none of them had ever married.  Yet he’d retained the naïve notion that somehow everything would work out, that he could rule without marrying but have Theon –

Have Theon _what?_ By his side? Theon had always talked about eventually returning to Pyke to claim his birthright. He couldn’t be there and in Winterfell at the same time. Robb groaned and buried his face in his hands, the overwhelming stress of the past day – or possibly the past month – threatening to consume him, buckle his knees and drop him to the floor.

Theon kissed him then, driving the anxious thoughts from his mind. Robb let himself relax into it, shutting his eyes and sinking into Theon’s arms as Theon carefully maneuvered them until they were sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“Since your mother mentioned that you have a soulmate by your side, I doubt Walder Frey is under the illusion that you’re a blushing maiden,” said Theon quietly, leaning away to look Robb in the eye. In the dimming light, his eyes were darker than the black letters of his name on Robb’s wrist.

Robb was sure Theon meant it as _we can still fuck_ , but he chose to interpret it as them carrying on with their relationship, regardless of what Theon labelled it. He didn’t like it. It felt like he was somehow betraying the agreement if he continued lying with Theon. But forcibly distancing himself from Theon felt like he was betraying Theon, and himself – and the thought was infinitely worse.

He kissed Theon harder, nudging him onto his back, and pushed aside his worries – at least for a little while.

 

\---

 

“I’m sending you to Pyke.”

Theon raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone in Robb’s voice. It was hard to believe that less than a fortnight ago, the boy before him who was now King of the North had been crying his eyes out on Theon’s shoulder upon receiving the raven informing him of his father’s execution. Mayhaps if Robb wasn’t his soulmate, Theon would have missed the fresh dark circles under his eyes or the way he seemed to force himself to stand upright.  

He definitely didn’t fail to notice that Robb hadn’t been as eager to fuck ever since he’d been betrothed to Walder Frey’s daughter, often choosing to instead throw a lazy arm over Theon’s waist and pass out in seconds. 

Theon didn’t stir from his sprawled position on the bed. After weeks of sleeping in tents, the large rooms and soft beds of Riverrun felt like heaven to him and he was loathe to move. “I’m sorry?”

Robb pushed the door of the chamber further open and sat down on the bed, shoving Theon’s legs aside to make room. “I’m sending you to Pyke,” he repeated. “If I am to have any hope of securing an alliance with another sizeable force, I need envoys. My mother will be treating with both Baratheon brothers – hopefully at least one of them align with me. And you will sail to the Iron Islands and offer your father the chance to ally with me.”

Theon would be lying if he said he was completely surprised by Robb’s decision to attempt an alliance with Balon Greyjoy, but he _was_ taken aback by his decision to send _him_. “Who advised you to choose me as envoy to my father?” 

“Eh, I didn’t consult anyone on the matter yet,” admitted Robb. “I’ll bring it up during the war council later today.”

“Seven hells, Robb,” groaned Theon, propping himself up on his elbows. “You know perfectly well that your mother and every single one of your bannermen will advise against you choosing me! In fact, they’ll probably tell you to pick _anyone_ but me.”  

“I trust you.”  

Theon blew out an exasperated breath. “It’s not about trust. It’s about the fact that I was Ned Stark’s hostage, and now I’m your hostage. You’re supposed to keep me away from my home, not send me back.”   

Robb regarded him as if Theon had just said something stupid rather than perfectly logical. “I don’t care what my bannermen see you as – you were never my hostage, you’re my soulmate. If they thought I could reconcile the two and think of you as both, they’re wrong.”

“Fine, but –”

“Do you _want_ to go to Pyke?” 

“I…” Theon trailed off. He’d always assumed that one day he would be able to return home to Pyke and claim his birthright, but he’d never thought it would be that soon. Regardless of Robb’s refusal to view him as one, he knew was still a hostage. Robb’s bannermen knew they were soulmates – Robb made no secret of that fact – but they never openly acknowledged it either, merely shooting Theon resentful glares whenever Robb wasn’t looking. Perhaps it would be nice to go home and be the subject of respect rather than disdain. And surely Balon Greyjoy would listen to him – he was his last living son and heir, after all.  

“Yes,” he admitted. 

Robb beamed as if he’d captured the Kingslayer all over again, but it looked a little too forced for Theon to think of it as genuine. “Excellent,” he said, passing Theon a rolled-up letter he hadn’t noticed Robb was carrying.

Theon examined it, twirling the letter between his fingers. The name _Balon Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands_ was carefully written on the creamy paper, the blood red seal of the Stark direwolf partially covering the _y_. He wondered whether Ned Stark's letters to his father had looked the same. 

“When am I leaving?” he asked.

“On the morrow,” said Robb. “You will accompany the Mallisters as far as Seagard, and from there you’ll board a ship to Pyke.”

“And if your mother and bannermen disagree with this plan?”

“I am their king,” Robb stated. “I’ll listen to their objections, but ultimately it is my decision. I’m not changing my mind on this matter.”

Theon was fairly certain Robb usually put more stock into his bannermens’ advice than that, and couldn’t deny that he was inordinately pleased to be the exception. “As you wish, your Grace.”

Robb frowned as he stood up. “You don’t have to call me your Grace when no one is around.”

Theon smirked. “Whatever you say, your Grace.”  

Robb huffed in exasperation, but the corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “You ought to get out of bed. Your laziness seems to be spoiling your hearing.”

“Nope. I haven’t slept in a proper bed since Winterfell, and I have a long journey ahead of me,” said Theon, flopping back down onto the pillow. “I need rest.” 

“ _Right,"_ said Robb dubiously." Well, I’m calling the war council in the Great Hall in an hour, and if you’re not there I’m going to personally drag you into the room.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Theon’s forehead before striding out of the room. Theon watched him leave, slight guilt churning his stomach. He had a feeling that Robb didn’t particularly want to send him to the Irons Islands, just as he didn’t want to marry a Frey woman, but he did what he thought was necessary and right, as always. Theon wasn’t as upset about the marriage as Robb clearly was – as long as he was able to be with Robb, he could tolerate him having a wife as a mummer’s farce to please Walder Frey - but Robb's code of honour that his lord father had passed down to him must have been warring with his desire to continue lying with Theon. 

Theon’s eyes returned to his father’s name on the letter, and the sudden realization came over him: he’d have to hide his soulmate mark from everyone on the Iron Islands. From his father, from his mother, from his sister, from every fucking ironborn on Pyke like Robb had suggested years ago - unless he wanted no one to take him seriously. 

The letter in his hands suddenly felt heavier than before.

 

\---

 

The sharp, salty tang of the sea greeted Theon as exited his cabin and strode onto the deck of the ship carrying him to the Iron Islands. Breathing in the scent, he gazed out over the endless expanse of blue, the waves crashing against the hull in pulses. Somehow, the sea didn’t seem quite as large and formidable as he remembered, but he supposed that everything seemed bigger to a child. 

He peered at the horizon. In the distance, he could make out the faint outline of a grey castle situated on an island composed of dark hues and shadows. Theon’s heart thudded with excitement, and he stopped a passing sailor. “How long until we reach Pyke?” he asked him.

The man’s face contorted into an expression Theon couldn’t read. “Should arrive soon. Shortly after midday at the latest.”  

Theon nodded and returned his gaze to the view. He’d thought the sea would evoke his half-buried memories of his years on Pyke, of time spent with his mother and sister – possibly even his father and deceased brothers. Instead, it reminded him of the first time he’d come to Winterfell as a scared child, taken from his family by Eddard Stark only a few short days before, and enthusiastically welcomed by Robb Stark, whom he’d offered to show the sea. The selfish part of Theon wished Robb could have there with him so that they’d have seen the sea together like he’d promised, but at the moment, with Robb leading his army into war, it was a fool’s dream.  

A twinge of pain in his left wrist caused Theon to absentmindedly rub his soulmate mark. He’d once overheard Lady Catelyn telling Sansa that when soulmates were separated by a great distance, they were able to sense the emotions and feelings of their soulmate. Theon had thought it was complete horseshit, but since the boat had sailed away from the mainland he’d cycled through random bursts of sadness, anxiety, relief, triumph, and discontent – emotions that were definitely not his. He hoped Robb could sense his joy at finally returning to Pyke after nine years, if only to distract Robb from everything that was worrying him.  

Light footsteps padded on the wooden deck and stopped beside him. “Good morning,” came the lilting voice of the captain’s daughter.

Theon suppressed a groan. The girl had been trying to tempt him into fucking her the entirety of his journey to Pyke, and if Robb wasn’t his soulmate Theon wouldn’t have hesitated in seducing her back and dragging her off to his bed. As it was, there was no way Theon was ever going to break his promise to Robb – not to mention he didn’t even want to – but he couldn’t tell her or anyone that since he was hiding the fact that he had a soulmate from everyone on board, in case word of it somehow reached his family.

The captain’s daughter shifted closer to him, laying one hand on his forearm and trailing her fingers up to his shoulder. “It’s rather cold out here,” she said with a cloying smile. “Why don’t we go back inside my cabin to warm up? Or yours, if you prefer.”

“It’s not that cold,” said Theon brusquely, shaking off her arm. “And going back to any cabin with _you_ would only make it colder.” 

The captain’s daughter recoiled from him, her smile fading. In a tone much frostier than it had been a second ago, she snapped, “I reckon you’ve spent so much time in the cold of Winterfell with the Starks that your eyes and heart have frozen over.”  

Strangely enough, Theon felt more comfortable when she started ridiculing him. He’d been dealing with mockery for being a Greyjoy and derision for being Robb Stark’s soulmate half his life, and it was better than constantly brushing away her attempts to seduce him. Automatically putting on a smirk, he said, “And I suppose you’ve spent so much time chasing after me that you’ve forgotten that I am the heir to the Iron Islands – so watch your tongue.”

She huffed and flounced away from him, her skirt billowing out behind her. Theon avoided the perplexed looks from the ship’s crew members who no doubt were wondering why he kept turning down a willing maiden girl. If shouting _I only fuck people named Robb_ _Stark_  didn’t have obvious repercussions, Theon might have been tempted to do so. 

Mayhaps he was missing Robb a little more than he’d ever admit aloud, but he just needed to be patient a little longer. His father would agree to Robb’s terms and lend him the Greyjoy fleet, and then he’d triumphantly rejoin Robb and his army. Nothing could go wrong.

 

\---

 

Robb was in the middle of a meeting with his bannermen when he first felt the itch in his soulmate mark. At first he dismissed it – ever since Theon had left for Pyke he’d sometimes gotten strange feelings from him, ranging from excitement and euphoria to annoyance and boredom. It was amusing at times, but Robb cherished the bond with him. Whenever he was sitting in his tent reviewing battle tactics and feeling inexplicably happy, it brought a grin to his face – and a knowing look to his mother’s. 

It didn’t take long for him to realize this time was different, though. The sensations he was getting from Theon were much stronger than usual, and instead of anticipation, Robb was overwhelmed with rage, anguish, and above all, a sense of crushing disappointment. A rush of dizziness swept over him and he placed a hand on the table to steady himself, shaking to clear his head.

“Your Grace, are you all right?”

Robb blinked and turned to the concerned face of Brynden Tully. Looking past him, he noticed that everyone else had also stopped talking and were giving him questioning looks.

“I – yes. Yes, I’m merely tired from last night’s battle,” he said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt.

His great-uncle’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I daresay we all are.” Robb’s answer seemed to satisfy him and the rest of his bannermen, but his mother’s eyes narrowed skeptically.  

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Robb kept up his King in the North façade, nodding at their suggestions and asking questions whenever appropriate, but the whole time he had to fight to keep his frustration – or rather, Theon’s frustration – out of his voice. When he finally decided that they would advance on the Lannister host at Oxcross first and announced his decision, all his bannermen acknowledged him and dispersed outside, leaving Robb and his mother alone in the tent.

His mother glanced once at the entrance of the tent, confirming that everyone had left, and approached him. The look on her face told Robb at once that lying to her would be pointless.

“Robb, what is wrong?”

He hesitated, then gestured at his left wrist. “I’ve been receiving flashes of emotion from Theon ever since he departed for Pyke,” he said. “He’s generally been in a good mood, but all of a sudden he became…angry and miserable.”  

Catelyn frowned in thought. “If he didn’t run into any unforeseen circumstances, he should have arrived at Pyke by now…it’s entirely possible that Balon Greyjoy rejected your terms.”  

 _Then Balon Greyjoy is an idiot_. Robb spent a lot time deciding on terms he’d thought Theon’s father would agree to. He wasn’t sure why Balon would refuse a crown when that was the whole purpose of the Greyjoy rebellion some ten years ago, but it was definitely a possibility – and it would explain why Theon’s distress was strong enough that it was palpable to Robb from so many leagues away.

“Robb,” his mother began. “You do remember what I told you when you decided to send Theon to parley with –”

“Yes, I remember,” he interrupted. “And my mind has not changed on that matter.” 

Catelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, and Robb inwardly sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, the conversation where she’d warned him not to trust Theon lingered at the back of his mind like a persistent ghost, haunting him with her assertion that Theon was a Greyjoy, and that Greyjoys were not to be trusted. And while she’d never outright told him not to become attached – considering that they were soulmates, that was damn near impossible – she’d never really approved of their close bond either.

“Very well,” his mother said. Robb was glad for the change of topic, but the onslaught of emotions from Theon was becoming worse, and he was starting to develop a headache. “Regardless of Theon Greyjoy’s actions, if Balon Greyjoy has indeed refused to become our ally, as Stannis and Renly Baratheon had done, then the Lannisters still greatly outnumber us.”

“I have a sufficient number of men to attack Oxcross and after that, the rest of the westerlands,” said Robb, pushing away the maps on the table and standing up. “From there, I will consult with my bannermen and decide who else could be persuaded to ally with us.”

Catelyn looked taken aback by his dismissive tone. “Robb –”

“I need to be alone for a short while,” he said thickly, gritting his teeth at another burst of dismay from Theon.  

His mother stared at him, and Robb was relieved to see the flash of understanding in her eyes. He realized she must have endured the same pains when his father left to fight in Robert’s Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion, and even more when he'd been executed in King’s Landing. How much did it hurt, when one’s soulmate died? The inked name of one’s soulmate disappeared from their wrist, so he figured it must hurt at least as much as when the name first appeared – not to mention the pain of knowing your other half was gone forever. 

Before he could voice any of his thoughts aloud, his mother had embraced him, folding her arms tight around his shoulders. Robb hugged her back, and for a moment he was four years old again, falling asleep in her arms after playing with Jon in the snow outside Winterfell.

Then his mother moved back and looked up at him, and Robb remembered that there was a crown on his head.

“If you need me, I will be in my tent,” she said softly, and walked outside. The tent flaps rustled behind her, leaving Robb alone and in the dark.

 

\---

 

“Fuck,” muttered Theon, kicking the small desk in the room given to him in the Bloody Keep. The desk failed to move, but a jolt of pain raced through his toes, making him hiss. “Fuck!”

Dropping onto the chair with a loud sigh, he stared at the unlit fireplace with unseeing eyes, tapping his fingers against the wood of the desk. All his beliefs regarding his return to Pyke had started to melt away since he'd set foot on the island, evaporating completely when his father had thrown Robb’s letter into the fire right after reading it. In hindsight, he should have realized that calling Robb his brother was a terrible idea – he was just grateful that he’d bit his tongue before calling him his soulmate. Who knew what his father’s reaction would have been then?

_Considering that he didn’t take me seriously anyway, mayhaps I should have showed him my soulmate mark in spite._

Theon turned his wrist upwards, tugging down his sleeve enough to expose Robb’s name to the sea air and tracing the letters with one finger. If he refused to do as his father wished – reaving and raiding the North –  he’d be forsaking his home, his name, and everything that was his by right. But doing so would be betraying Robb, and the mere thought of turning on his soulmate was enough to make Robb's name on his wrist throb with pain. Why couldn't his father see that siding with Robb would have given him and the ironborn exactly what they'd been fighting for during the rebellion? 

He looked around the room, as if hoping the sparse interior would provide him with a solution to his dilemma, and that’s when the door slammed open and Asha barged in.

“Little brother,” she greeted without preamble. “Father sent me to tell you – _what is that?”_

To his horror, Theon realized her gaze had landed on his wrist, where his black soulmate mark was prominently displayed. He quickly pushed his sleeve up to cover it, but it was too late. His sister crossed the room to where he was sitting in three long strides, grabbing his forearm and shoving the sleeve back down.

She stared at the name for several seconds, her expression unreadable. Then she dropped his arm as if his skin had burned her and moved to sit on the only other chair in the room, facing him with dark eyes far too similar to his own. Apprehension coiled in Theon’s gut.

“Don’t tell Father,” he blurted, hating that he’d been reduced to begging his sister. “He already thinks I’m Robb’s – I mean, Stark’s – lackey, and if he knows we’re soulmates he’s never going to trust me.”

Asha’s gaze sharpened. “With good reason,” she spat. “Why should we trust you to command a ship when the enemy whose lands we’re going to raid is your soulmate? How can we trust that you won’t run off and warn Robb Stark of our plans?"

“I – I suppose you can’t,” he admitted. “Trust me, that is. But then I can’t trust you, either.”

Asha leaned back in the chair, still regarding him with that inscrutable look. Theon found it difficult to hold her gaze – he was still embarrassed about not recognizing her as his sister when she’d lied and introduced herself as Esgred. At least he hadn’t attempted to seduce her, because she was exactly the type of woman he'd have bedded before his vow to Robb. With every passing second under her unreadable stare, he become more certain that she would leave his room and inform their father, who would definitely disown him and possibly sacrifice him to the Drowned God. 

“I’m not going to kill you. Or inform Father, which would be tantamount to a death sentence.”

Theon blinked. “How did you – I didn’t say anything!”   

“I can see the fear written on your face.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “For an ironborn, your face is far too expressive. We don’t show much emotion around here.”

Theon found it hard to believe the ironborn felt any emotions at all, that they weren’t simply made of iron as the name suggested. Forcing himself not to flinch, he said, “What are you going to do, then?” with an air of nonchalance he didn’t really feel.

Instead of answering, Asha stood up and walked over to the small round window at the corner of his room to stare out at the sea. “Do you love him?”

“What?”

“Your Stark soulmate. Do you love him?”

Theon frowned uncertainly. He couldn’t shake his worry that the question was a trap, posed to test where his loyalties lay, but he had the unnerving feeling that Asha would be able to see through any lies he said. 

He swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said, conscious of the fact that it was the first time he’d ever admitted it out loud.     

Asha glanced back at him, looking completely unsurprised by his answer. “I see.” Her eyes met his, and Theon thought he saw a flicker of genuine emotion flash through them. _Huh._

“Did Mother ever tell you about how she ended up marrying Father?”

“Uh…” Theon racked his memory, but he couldn’t remember whether either of his parents – not that his father would have ever bothered – had ever told him anything about their past. “No, but the marriage was to strengthen the alliance between House Greyjoy and Harlaw, wasn’t it?”

Asha nodded. “It was. But Mother had another suitor before that. Her soulmate.”

Theon’s mouth fell open. He’d always known his parents weren’t soulmates, but he’d thought they’d simply never met their respective soulmates, that their marriage was one of both convenience and politics. He supposed that was how his mother had known so much information about soulmates. “Who?”

“I don’t know, she never told me his name. Whoever he was, though, he wasn’t ironborn. When Mother became engaged to marry Father, her soulmate asked her to run away with him to the Free Cities. She was tempted, but she knew her duty - she wished her soulmate well when he left, and she stayed and married Balon Greyjoy.”

“Great. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because even though she never expressly mentioned it, I think a part of her always regretted not leaving with him. She knows she made the right choice – but she wasn’t happy with it. And it’s obvious that if you stay and fight for our father, betraying Robb Stark, you’re going to be miserable.”

Theon cracked a weak grin. “Perhaps you _are_ a romantic at heart.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “I still have to figure out how to get you out of here. Besides, I’m not the one pining over Robb Stark.”

His first instinct was to retort that he wasn’t _pining_ over his soulmate – Theon Greyjoy did not pine over anybody, not even Robb Stark – but then the beginning of her sentence sank in. “Wait. What do you mean by _getting me out?"_  

Asha scowled. “Were you not listening to me earlier? If you tell Father that you’re defecting to the bloody Starks rather than fighting for him, there’s no way he’ll let you leave Pyke alive.”

“Wonderful,” muttered Theon. He wasn’t sure which was more shocking: Asha willingly allowing him to leave or his father willingly killing his last living son. Judging by his father’s open desire for Asha to be his heir instead, he supposed he really shouldn’t be that surprised. “In that case, shall I fly out of this castle and wing my way back to Westeros?”

“Unless you learned that particular trick during your stay in Winterfell, no.” Her eyes flicked to the doorway, as if confirming that the door was closed. “There’s only one way I can think of that will get you back to your precious Robb Stark alive. I don’t like it, but there’s no other way.”

“Which way?”

Asha grimaced and cracked her knuckles, the series of sharp pops rippling through the air. “I'm going to have to sneak you out of the castle." 

 

\---

 

The catacombs beneath the castle were just as dark and damp as Theon remembered, from the time he was five and Maron had thought it’d be a good jape to leave him there, lost and crying until Asha had stumbled across him. Mildew and moss had crept through the stones, and there were more rats scurrying along the walls and floor than he recalled, but the stale, cool air was familiar. 

“Do you remember –” Theon began.

“The time I had to drag your ass out of here because you were wandering around and wailing at the top of your lungs?” Asha finished.

“I was not _wailing,_ ” said Theon defensively, cursing as he tripped over a stray rock.

Asha snorted as she moved effortlessly down the tunnel. “The only reason I found you was because your cries were echoing loudly enough to wake the Drowned God. That's called _wailing_ , little brother.”

Theon sighed, quickening his pace to match hers. In the nine years that he’d lived on Pyke, he’d enjoyed exploring the vast network of halls and chambers dotted around the castle, yet he’d never found the one that Asha had led him through – a short stairway connecting the closet behind the kitchen and the east side of the catacombs. It hadn’t been too difficult to avoid the few servants and thralls walking by and slip into the passage together.

Asha’s eyes narrowed, then she blew out the small candle she’d stolen from the kitchen. Theon blinked at the sudden darkness, peering up ahead and noticing the white sunlight shining in from a small opening in the stone. 

“Is that the exit?” asked Theon incredulously. “I can’t fit through that!”

“I’m able to fit, and you’re not that much bigger than me,” Asha muttered. “Now shut up. There could be ironborn nearby, and this whole thing will go up in smoke if they hear you.”

Theon shut his mouth as they approached the exit. Now that they were closer, he realized it was a little bigger than he’d thought – about the size of Robb’s direwolf, but it would still be a tight fit for both of them.

Asha dropped the candle on the ground and wriggled through the gap. Her head disappeared from Theon’s view, and after a brief moment, the rest of her followed suit.

“There’s no one else here,” she hissed, just loud enough for Theon to hear. “Hurry!”

Theon hesitated, then scrambled to the opening and awkwardly squeezed himself in. The rough stone brushed his face when he squirmed through the gap, the jagged surface forcing him to suck in his stomach as he shuffled to the other side as he quickly as he could. He ended up moving too fast, toppling face-first onto the grassy dune just outside the catacombs. 

Spitting sand out of his mouth, he climbed to his feet and gazed out. They were on the other side of Pyke, opposite of where he’d arrived at the docks earlier that day. The faint breeze ruffled the tops of the reeds lining the shore, the spray of the sea sprinkling the abandoned dock. A lone boat was tethered to said dock with a thick rope, bobbing gently in the rocking waves.

“How did that boat get there?” asked Theon.

“There’s always one for emergencies,” said Asha, striding towards it. “In case the leader of Pyke is under siege and needs to escape, or any circumstance where they’d have to leave in a hurry. Father will probably assume you remembered this information from when you lived here.”

 _Lived._ The past tense of the word struck Theon with its hidden weight. Regardless of whether he survived the war, as long as his father was alive, he would never return to Pyke again. Chances were he’d never set foot on any of the other islands, either. He regretted that he couldn’t visit his mother on Harlaw, but apart from that, he found that he didn’t care half as much as he should have. 

His sister untied the rope from the docks and handed it to him. “Get in,” she said.

Theon made to jump into the boat, but a question occurred to him. “Do you know your soulmate?”

Asha stared at him. “What gave you that impression?”  

“Perhaps you’re helping me because you have a mainlander soulmate as well?” Theon guessed weakly. 

An amused chuckle followed his proclamation. “No, I don’t know my soulmate,” replied Asha. “Considering that I’ve met nearly everyone on this island, he could very well be from the mainland. As for why I’m helping you – you’re my little brother. That’s reason enough.”

A lump rose in Theon’s throat, and he stepped into the boat. The vessel rocked under his feet, and he braced his hands on the sides to keep his balance. He surveyed the bottom of the small boat, noting the pouch of gold, a fishing spear and a pair of oars.

“I should hope you know how to fish. And that you’re able to row yourself back to wherever the bloody hell you’re going," 

Truthfully, Theon wasn’t sure of that at all, but he said confidently, “Of course.”

She arched an eyebrow, but didn’t question him as he attempted to settle comfortably in the boat, straightening his legs and grabbing the oars. Swinging them over the side of the boat with a small splash, he rested the poles across his lap and raised his gaze to meet his sister’s.

“Don’t drown,” she said seriously. “I’d hate to have gone to all this trouble for nothing.”

The corner of Theon’s mouth lifted in a half-hearted smirk. “If I do, at least it’ll spare Father the trouble of sacrificing me to the Drowned God himself."

“Hilarious,” Asha retorted, giving the edge of the boat a swift kick. It drifted a few feet away from the dock, jolting when a strong current of water passed. 

“Asha.”

“What?”

“Since it doesn’t look like I’m coming back to Pyke anytime soon…if anything should happen to Father, you should be ruler of the Iron Islands.”

For a moment Asha’s eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t smile, but Theon still had the impression that she was pleased. Inclining her head in acknowledgement, she said, “I can’t promise you nor Robb Stark anything, but if you’re in dire need of men or a fleet again, send me a raven and I’ll see what I can do. Now go!”

Theon didn’t think she could do much, considering Balon’s plan to send her to invade the North, but he nodded anyway.  

He lifted the oars and pushed them into water, grunting with the effort to slice them cleanly through the waves. It became slightly easier once he found a rhythm, and soon he was rowing at a steady pace, his arms pistoning back and forth.

When he looked back at the shore, Asha was gone and he was alone.

 

\---

 

“Your Grace!”

 Robb raised a hand to forestall the Greatjon’s impending tirade and glanced at the guard in the doorway. “Yes?”

 “Sorry to disturb you, but Theon Greyjoy is at the front gate and he's asking to see you.”

It took Robb a few moments to process the information. Theon had been gone for so long, disappearing off the map completely, that most of his bannermen suspected that he’d abandoned their cause. He’d known Theon was alive – he occasionally felt pangs of exhaustion that definitely weren’t his – but there had been reports of the ironborn attacking Moat Cailin and Deepwood Motte. While Theon’s name hadn’t been mentioned in any of them, Asha Greyjoy’s name had, and Robb wondered what exactly had happened when he’d sent Theon to Pyke. 

“Escort him to the solarium,” said Robb, hoping the elation he felt wasn’t evident in his tone. Even though his entire army was aware they were soulmates, he didn’t want them to know exactly how much of his personal happiness derived from Theon. “I will meet him there.”

The guard dipped his head and left. Robb glanced at his bannermen, who had all fallen silent at the mention of Theon’s name. He was tempted to subtly boast about having been right regarding Theon’s loyalty to him, but he merely said, “Continue discussing amongst yourselves. I will return shortly.”  

He walked out of the room and hurried towards the solar – or rather, what passed for one in the Crag. It was nowhere near as grandiose as the one in Winterfell, but it was functional and private. Robb stepped inside, hovering near the wooden table and chairs that looked like they had not moved since the beginning of the Westerlings’ rule. 

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Robb whipped around. The sudden movement chafed his shoulder injury and he winced, but the pain was forgotten the instant Theon walked inside the room, head lowered and flanked by two guards.

“Theon,” he breathed.

Theon raised his head, and Robb was shocked by how weary he looked. His clothes were ragged and didn’t seem to have been washed in weeks – or more accurately, since he’d left Robb’s army. The dark circles under his eyes resembled bruises, and his lips were dry and cracked. He was thinner than before and every muscle in his body was hunched over, and from someone who used to strut around Winterfell, it was a very unusual sight.   

_I definitely wasn’t imagining his exhaustion._

Robb nodded at the two guards, who bowed and left. Theon looked back and nudged the door shut behind him. When he turned to face Robb again, he was smiling slightly. 

“Robb. It’s been a while,” he rasped, and Robb couldn’t remember his voice ever sounding that hoarse in his life.

“Too long,” agreed Robb, his voice wavering. He was itching to touch Theon, as his mother had warned him was often the case when soulmates were separated for long periods of time, but he was worried that any physical contact would shatter this Theon like fragile glass. “But – what in the seven hells happened to you?”

Theon’s shoulders slumped and he moved closer, collapsing onto the nearest chair. “Well. As you have probably guessed, I did not return with my father’s fleet. However, I did return with my head still attached, so I suppose I could consider this a personal victory.”

Robb stared at him. “I’m mildly worried that you’re feeling successful for simply being alive.”

Theon laughed, but the sound was hollow. “Mayhaps too many of us take life for granted. _I_ took too many things for granted, apparently, and –” He gestured at his own battered appearance. “Look what that did to me.”

“Yes, about that…” Robb sat down across from him. “You still haven’t answered me. What happened on Pyke?”  

Theon smirked, but it was the deceptive one he wore to convince people that weren’t Robb that he was fine. “I sailed to Pyke, just as you instructed, and handed my father your letter. He tossed it in the fire, declared that no man gives him a crown because he needs to pay the fucking iron price for it – it didn’t help that you're Ned Stark’s son – and proceeded to berate me for not being ironborn enough.” At that, Theon’s hand strayed towards his throat, where –

“Hey, weren’t you wearing that gold chain –”

Theon nodded. “My father didn’t appreciate it as much as I did since I didn’t steal it from my enemy’s corpse. He ripped it from my neck.”  

It was probably for the best that Balon Greyjoy was many leagues away, since Robb was itching to throttle him for his stupidity. “Then what happened?”

“Asha happened,” said Theon, sounding both irritated and grateful. “After I was brought to my room, I was careless and she caught sight of your name on my wrist. After she worked out that I didn’t want to betray you by raiding the North on our father’s orders, she managed to smuggle me out of the castle and I fled my own damn birthplace on a tiny fishing boat.”

“You _rowed back to the mainland by yourself_?” said Robb incredulously. “No wonder I felt tired all the time.”

“You were?”

“Yes, I received flashes of exhaustion from you sometimes. I suppose it was while you were rowing.”  

“Perhaps,” agreed Theon. “Or it could be after I reached the shore, because once I’d abandoned the boat I realized I had no idea where you were and I had to hike to the nearest town, where I bought a horse with what little gold I had and learned from tavern gossip that Robb Stark’s army was conquering the westerlands, so –”

“You galloped on horseback all the way here,” finished Robb. “Fuck, other than that tavern did you stop to eat at all?”

Theon’s cheeks flushed pink. “I caught one or two fish while aboard the boat – which reminds me, never give me a fishing spear, I’m terrible at using them – but otherwise? No.”

“You should have eaten something – it’s no wonder you’re so thin,” said Robb, shifting forward to gently close a hand around Theon’s forearm, his thumb tracing the emaciated muscle and bone protruding from underneath the skin. Theon shivered under his touch, and muttered something Robb didn’t catch.

“Sorry?”

“Part of the reason I didn’t want to stop was because I – I missed you,” he blurted, and Robb froze, eyes widening in shock. Theon admitting his true emotions was a rare occurrence, and he wondered if Theon wouldn’t mind –

“No, I’m not going to repeat that. Ever,” cut in Theon as soon as Robb opened his mouth.

“…How did you know I was going to ask for you to repeat that?”

Theon chuckled, though he still looked like he couldn’t quite believe he’d actually said those words out loud. “We’ve been soulmates for ten fucking years, I think I can predict your words and actions by now.”

Robb raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? Can you predict what I’m about to say now?”

“I _could_ ,” said Theon slowly. “But I’d like to hear _you_ say it instead.”

Grinning, Robb stood up and placed his mouth next to Theon’s ear, whispering, “I missed you, too,” before moving back and finally pressing his lips against Theon’s, curling his free arm around Theon’s waist. Theon parted his mouth with a sigh, tentatively settling his hands on Robb’s shoulders. His lips were dry and cracked beneath his own, and Robb experimentally licked at them. The broken moan Theon emitted caused Robb to scramble off his chair and shift even closer, pouring all his relief and delight at having Theon back by his side into the kiss. 

When Theon leaned forward, angling his face against Robb's, Robb didn't question it. Only when Theon's grip on his shoulders slackened considerably did Robb realized Theon was sagging on top of him and almost falling out of his chair. 

Robb froze, silently cursing himself for getting so swamped in the moment that he'd temporarily forgotten that Theon had just rowed back to the mainland and galloped to the Crag. He shook him gently, and Theon’s eyes shot open. “What –”

“You’re exhausted,” said Robb. He couldn’t sense it through their soulmate bond anymore, now that Theon was nearby, but it was incredibly obvious just from looking at the lines on Theon’s face that definitely weren’t there a few weeks prior. Robb tightened his grasp on Theon’s waist and heaved, pulling him to his feet. “Why don’t we go to my chambers, and I’ll ask the servants to draw you a bath, bring you dinner - then you can sleep for as long as you want, so that you don’t faint on me like a swooning maiden.”

Theon snorted, but didn’t resist when Robb tugged him towards the doorway. “Very well,” he said. His lip curled into a challenging grin. “But afterwards, I’m proving to you that I’m no maiden. Much less a swooning one.”

Robb couldn’t have stopped the bright smile forming on his face even if he wanted to. “I look forward to it.”

 

\---

 

If there was one thing Theon hadn’t missed while he was away, it was the contemptuous looks from the majority of Robb’s bannermen – now made even worse by the fact that he hadn’t brought his father’s fleet as he’d bee sent to do. Not that the critical scowls from the ironborn had been much better, but at least the ironborn had still showed a modicum of respect for their prince.

Theon walked past Lord Glover, pretending he didn’t hear him mutter his name and _pity Robb Stark got saddled with him as a_ _soulmate_ under his breath, and headed up the twisting staircase, gripping the banister tightly. He was still weaker than usual despite returning to regular meals, and the first time he’d climbed a flight of stairs he’d fallen straight onto Robb – and the idiot had only bothered to mention that he’d sustained an arrow injury after Theon had noticed him clutch his shoulder.

He reached the next floor and strode down the hall, turning the corner and coming face-to-face with Roose Bolton.

_Wonderful. Another bannerman who loathes the sight of me._

Theon supposed that was partially his fault, since he was certain that Bolton had overheard his japes about leeches at some point. 

“Greyjoy.” Bolton’s pale eyes didn’t give away whatever he was thinking, but Theon was sure it wasn't nice.

“Lord Bolton,” said Theon coolly.

“I had heard you had returned from your little jaunt to the Iron Islands,” he said smoothly. “Albeit lacking the famed Greyjoy ships, which were the sole purpose of your visit."

Theon suppressed a snarl and forced a smirk on his face. “I fear my father’s ships were otherwise occupied when I visited.” Remembering Asha’s parting words, he added, “If Robb Stark needs them, they can be summoned.”

“It may have escaped your notice since you were not here, but we need ships _now._ Otherwise we are stuck in the westerlands with not enough men to launch the proposed attack on Casterly Rock.”  

“Are you certain you’re not the one not attending Robb’s war councils?” asked Theon. “Because Robb informed me that he may send an envoy to Stannis Baratheon with a second alliance offer.” 

“Yes, he did mention that. Considering that Stannis already turned him down once, however, that path is not entirely reliable." Bolton laced his fingers together. "Speaking of offers, did he also mention the raven from Lord Frey?”

“He did,” replied Theon. The note had apparently arrived a few days before his return, in which Walder Frey promised Robb his extra men if he came back to the Twins and married his daughter right away. Theon didn’t like it because there was no plausible reason for him to suddenly insist on a Stark-Frey wedding at the earliest opportunity, and Robb didn’t like it because they would have to detour back to the Twins before continuing to advance on Casterly Rock, but both of them had reluctantly agreed that they needed all the men they could get.

Bolton’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “So it is possible that we _will_ acquire enough men to attack the Lannisters’ home…but a fleet would have practically assured our victory. It really is a pity you couldn't obtain them from your own father." 

Theon wasn’t sure whether his irritation stemmed from the repeated allusions to his failed trip to Pyke, or the suspiciously content Bolton. He narrowed his eyes. “I was under the impression Robb is holding a council at this very moment to discuss these matters.” He himself had wanted to attend, but Robb had insisted that he rest and had forbade his presence. Theon's protests that he was fully recovered had fallen on deaf ears. 

“He was. The council finished a mere five minutes ago, and I paused to admire the art decorating the walls.” Bolton gestured at the brightly coloured paintings dotting the plain white walls. “The Crag may not be much to look at from the outside, but these works are quite beautiful. The Dreadfort isn’t nearly as pleasant.”

Theon easily recognized Bolton’s swift change of subject, but figured mentioning that observation would be a bad idea. Deciding to play along for the moment, he asked, “I'm sure they're much nicer than...whatever is at the Dreadfort. Which one of these is your favourite?”  

Roose Bolton’s gaze swept over the wall again before he indicated a painting near the ceiling. “I quite like that one…”

Theon didn’t even look at the painting he’d chosen, or what he said afterwards, because when Bolton had raised his left arm his doublet sleeve had fallen down to his elbow and revealed the bare skin underneath.

In swirling black letters across his wrist was the name _Sybell Westerling_.

Theon's mind whirled. Sybell Westering was the mother of that maiden who'd Robb's wound - she was the Lady of the Crag. Since when had she and Roose Bolton been soulmates? He was sure he'd seen Bolton's wrist at some point during their journey to King's Landing and there had not been a mark, which meant they must have only touched sometime after Robb conquered the Crag. It wasn't completely implausible that her and Bolton's paths might have crossed at some point, but what were the chances that they'd just happened to have touched?

Slim to none. And If Bolton and Lady Westerling had decided to meet only recently, while they were in the same location, there must have been a reason. Not to mention that the only way they would know of each other from before without having encountered the other before would be –

Through someone else, and - through _ravens._

“Greyjoy?” prompted Roose Bolton.

Theon’s gaze snapped back to his, but Bolton didn’t seem to notice his rising alarm. 

“Ah…I must take my leave. I have a – a pressing appointment,” Theon stuttered.

Bolton nodded. “Very well. I shall see you at the next council meeting, I hope?”

“Of course.”

As soon as Bolton had vanished around the corner, Theon broke into a run towards Lady Westerling’s quarters on the other side of the castle. Once he’d gotten there, he knocked on the door, opening it when no one answered.

Clearly Robb had allowed her live in almost the same fashion as before her home was invaded – the bed was neatly made, the oak desk brightly polished, and the floor spotlessly clean, giving the room an overall unspoiled air. Theon checked the inside of her desk, finding only a quill and inkwell, plus several scraps of parchment. Searches of her bookshelf and armoire also proved futile.

But when Theon pulled open the drawer on the small table beside her bed, he discovered a bundle of letters wrapped in red ribbon. He sat on the edge of the bed and undid the ribbon with shaking fingers. Then he picked up the first letter and scanned the note, his face paling as he read its contents.

 

\---

 

“This must be some mistake –”

“I assure you, this is no mistake,” said Robb coldly, looking down at Roose Bolton with disgust. On his orders, the guards had quite literally thrown him into the dungeon cell, and his now former bannerman was sprawled on the ground like a dog. “I read the letters from Tywin Lannister that were found in your chambers, and as far as I’m concerned, turning your cloak for the Lannisters when you’ve sworn your sword to me amounts to treason.”

Bolton fell silent, his eyes hardening to chips of glass, and turned away from him in the limited confines of the cell. Robb glanced at Lady Westerling, who was sitting as far away from her cell door as possible. The shadows hid most of her face, but Robb noticed that she still wore her dark crimson dress, torn at the hem from when she’d been arrested. From his side, Grey Wind growled low in his throat. 

Robb nodded at the guards, who slammed the door shut and locked it. He turned on his heel and went up the stairs, Grey Wind following him, and blinking when he walked back into the sunlight. It was an even warmer day than usual, and the stifling heat was bordering on discomfort to Robb, who’d grown up used to the cold of Winterfell. He huffed and wiped the sweat from his brow with one gloved hand.

“How is Bolton taking his imprisonment, your Grace?" 

Robb frowned at where Theon was leaning against the wall. “I told you before, you don’t have to call me your grace when no one is –” 

Theon coughed and inclined his head towards the guards exiting the dungeon behind Robb. Rolling his eyes, Robb dismissed the guards. “Satisfied?”

A lazy smirk bloomed on Theon’s face. “How is Bolton dealing with being your prisoner, _Robb?”_

Robb smiled. “He’s very upset, but he’ll survive. That’s all that matters.”

“Huh,” said Theon. “I’d have thought he’d be overjoyed to spend time in the company of his soulmate.”

“Lady Westerling is currently in no fit state to be anyone’s company,” said Robb grimly, beckoning for Theon to follow him down the corridor.

Theon fell into step beside him, with Grey Wind trotting in front of them. “Remind me why Roose Bolton’s life is so valuable? He’s a proven traitor – you ought to chop off his head.”

“I want to give him a fair trial,” answered Robb. “Not right now – there’s too much work left to do and I’d rather not hold a trial here in enemy territory. I’ll delay it until after the war is over.”

“I imagine you’re planning to pay Lady Westerling the same courtesy?”

“You imagine right. It might be more difficult because the Westerlings aren't in my army and she never swore an oath to me, but I allowed her some freedom in exchange for cooperating with me. It’s enough to hold her prisoner for now. Why?”

“I was wondering how the little maiden who healed you reacted to the news of her mother’s arrest.”

“Jeyne? She was fine once I’d reassured her that she and the rest of her family will not be punished for her mother’s crimes. Actually, she bore the news better than the rest of her family. I’m not certain, but I _think_ she secretly supports our cause against the Lannisters.”

Theon snorted. “It’s not that surprising. She had the opportunity to nurse the handsome, valiant Robb Stark back to health and is likely halfway in love with you by now. I bet if you invited her into your bed, she’d jump at the chance –”

Robb punched him in the shoulder as they turned the corner and headed out of the main doorway leaving the castle. “I think the sight of _you_ in my bed would be a deterrent to her,” he pointed out, just as they stepped outside.

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t a long line of Frey soldiers winding its way through the westerlands, away from the Crag. Robb shaded his eyes against the harsh sunlight to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. “What are they doing?” he asked as Grey Wind barked at the few Freys lagging behind the others. 

Theon stared at him. “When you informed the Frey soldiers that you were calling off your alliance with Walder Frey, they weren’t exactly applauding your decision. They’re returning to the Twins. What did you think they would do?”

“I told them that Walder Frey was planning to murder me at my uncle’s wedding!” protested Robb. “I thought – well, I was hoping they would decide to –”

“To what, swear allegiance to you?” Theon laughed bitterly. “Frey is their liegelord. It doesn’t matter if you’re better, or you want to prove you deserve them, or even if you have the rightful claim. They’ll still choose Frey over you.”

Robb had a feeling that Theon wasn'y talking about the Freys anymore, but he made no comment on it. After Theon had recounted the basic details of what had transpired on Pyke, he’d avoided any further mentions of the subject. It was obvious that being rejected from the home Theon had spent his entire life anticipating still stung, and would for a while. There wasn’t anything Robb could do to lessen the blow, not when it had already landed.

“If it’s any consolation, the Bolton army is still here,” said Theon. “Perhaps it’s a good thing you decided not to take Roose Bolton’s head just yet. Otherwise his army would have fucked off with the Frey army and gone back to the Dreadfort.”  

“Yet the fact remains that I threw their liegelord into a dungeon cell,” sighed Robb. “I can't trust their support. And even with the Bolton army, it’s still not enough to march on Casterly Rock. I need an alliance with Stannis, more than ever.”

“You do,” agreed Theon. “What’s your plan?”

“I’ll send an envoy to him with another alliance offer. If I agree to give up my title as King in the North, instead assuming the title of Warden of the North once the war is over, and swear fealty to Stannis when he takes King’s Landing, I see no reason for him to reject my terms. During that time, I’ll relocate my forces to Riverrun.” He’d already tarried in the Crag for far longer than he’d intended, and he didn’t like keeping Lady Westerling a prisoner in her own castle. He’d rather have her and Bolton in the Riverrun dungeons under his infinitely more trustworthy great-uncle. 

“I’m not sure who to send as envoy, though,” he added. “I don’t want to send my mother again.”

“I could go,” offered Theon, but Robb shook his head immediately. 

Theon glanced at him warily. “Is it because my first envoy mission failed?”

“No, it’s because I was worried the entire time you were gone, and you came back a tired, malnourished shadow,” said Robb. “You are _not_ leaving my side for a long time.”

Theon’s eyes widened in almost comical surprise, his jaw hanging open slightly. Then his mouth lifted in a half-smile, the closest to genuine delight that Robb had seen since his return from Pyke, and Robb quickly smiled back before it could disappear.

“Fine,” said Theon finally. “Send Patrek Mallister.”

Robb frowned. “Any particular reason why?”     

Theon shrugged. “I think he’d like the opportunity to prove himself to you. We became rather friendly on the journey to Seagard.”

“Really. Should I be jealous?” he teased.

A chuckle burst from Theon’s throat. “I’m fairly certain he does not have _Theon Greyjoy_ inked on his wrist.” 

“That is fortunate,” said Robb, his throat going dry, “because mine happens to bear that name, and I don’t want it on anyone else’s.”

A myriad of emotions flitted across Theon’s face, too quick for Robb to read. He reached down and wrapped his fingers around Robb’s wrist, pressing down on where his own name was inked below Robb's sleeve. Robb shuddered at the contact, and Theon gave him another tentative smile.

The unusually soft look in his eyes prompted Robb to ignore the fact that they were outside in plain view of anyone and cup the back of Theon’s neck, dragging him downwards. For a moment, Theon kissed him back with fervor, then he jerked away and stared at Robb in disbelief.

“ _Have you gone insane?”_ he hissed. “Your bannermen and army are right there –” he gestured at the makeshift garrison several feet away “– and we’re in the open.”

“I don’t care,” said Robb. He felt reckless, which wasn’t the best state to be in when he was King in the North – even if it was likely a temporary title at this point – but after finding out his trusted bannerman was corresponding with Tywin Lannister, he needed to unwind. “They know you’re my soulmate - it’s not like I ever bothered to keep you a secret. Consider it thanks for saving my life.”

“That was hardly saving your life.”

“It was,” said Robb earnestly. “If you hadn’t seen Roose Bolton’s soulmate mark and searched Lady Westerling’s room, I would have led my army to the Twins. If Frey’s information is accurate, my army would have been slaughtered, you would have been killed, my mother would be dead, I would be dead –”

“Robb, shut up. No one died. If anyone truly saved your life, it was Lord Frey.”

Robb stared at him quizzically, and Theon clarified, “If he hadn’t broken the alliance, you’d have had to marry a potentially ugly Frey daughter.”

Robb and Theon looked at each for one moment before bursting into hysterical giggles. Robb was still shocked that he might have died had it not been for Theon's chance sighting, but he found that dwelling on that fact only made him feel sick and he chose to focus on the positives. Which mainly centred on him not having to marry a Frey daughter, regardless of her appearance, because she wasn't, well, _Theon_. 

Theon was still giggling helplessly and attracting the attention of Robb’s remaining soldiers. Robb tried to kiss him again in an attempt to shut him up, but Theon ducked out of the way.

“If you really want to thank me that way, can we please do it without half of your army watching us?” he asked plaintively. 

Robb grinned and in answer, grasped Theon’s wrist, his hand closing over the spot where he knew his own name was written, before leading him back inside.

 

\---

 

The rain battering the windows woke Robb from his sleep. Groaning, he rolled over to where Theon lay in the bed –

Except Theon wasn’t there.

Robb sat up, frowning at the empty space. It was still warm, meaning Theon hadn’t been gone for long, but where could he be when the sun had barely risen over the horizon, and wasn’t visible anyway because of the storm clouds?

He swung his legs out of bed and looked around. Grey Wind was sleeping, curled in the corner with his paws tucked under his head. Robb crossed the room to scratch Grey Wind behind his ears, his wolf growling softly, and his eyes snagged on the partially open door to the balcony. He sighed and padded to the door, silently cursing the fact that it had to start raining as soon as they’d reached Riverrun a few days prior.

Sticking his head outside, Robb winced as the raindrops began pelting his head. Through the heavy sheet of rain, he could barely make out the silhouette of Theon leaning against the railing, completely undisturbed by the water soaking his clothes.

“Theon, what in the seven hells are you doing out here?” shouted Robb, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Theon turned to look at him. “I woke up early and I wanted to know what the riverlands looked like when it rained,” he replied, gesturing at the landscape. "The grass is so much greener." 

“…You do realize it’s not even dawn and that your clothes are drenched? You’re going to fall ill!" 

Theon waved a dismissive hand. “When I rowed back here, I fell into the sea once and I was fine – this is nothing. Besides, doesn’t it rain all the time on Pyke?”

Robb narrowed his eyes. “Yes, but we’re not on Pyke.” 

“And I never will be again,” said Theon, sounding - resigned? “Not unless –”

His voice broke off.

Robb dared to step closer to Theon’s side. “What is it?”

“There’s a horse and rider approaching.”

Squinting at the muddy ground, Robb followed Theon’s gaze to a white horse and several darker brown ones galloping steadily despite the buffeting rain. “Is that Patrek Mallister?”

“Possibly. He did leave on a white horse.”

Robb stilled, thinking rapidly. Then he dragged Theon back inside, ignoring his protest that he didn’t mind a bit of rain. Shutting the balcony door firmly behind them to quiet the storm, Robb kicked open his trunk and grabbed the first set of clothes he found.

“I’m going to meet Mallister downstairs,” said Robb as he pulled on the loose grey tunic. “If you’d rather get some more sleep –”

“I’m coming with you,” Theon cut in, hurrying to his side. To Robb’s confusion, he snatched the trousers from his hand.

“As long as you do _not_ wear these with that shirt,” said Theon firmly. “They don’t match.”

Once Theon had deemed both their outfits acceptable, they left Robb’s chamber – Theon had his own chamber, but Robb was fairly sure he hadn’t used it yet – and hurried to the main hall, where the sentries had also spotted the rider and were lowering the drawbridge.

The creaking of the chains rang out in the air despite the rain lashing the metal portcullis, rivulets of water dripping down the sides and into the moat. Urging their horses onwards, the riders cantered into the castle and dismounted. The lead one removed his helm, revealing the face of Patrek Mallister.

Robb attempted to gauge his expression, but couldn’t decipher his steady gaze.

“Mallister,” he greeted. “How did your journey fare?”

Patrek’s mouth quirked upwards in a smile. “The weather was much fairer in Stannis’ camp than here, your Grace. If I’d known there was a storm here I might not have come back.”

Robb could see why he and Theon had gotten along. He shifted his weight onto his other foot and prayed his nervousness wasn’t visible. “And what was Lord Stannis’ response to my offer of an alliance?”

Patrek tucked his helm under one arm, his smile widening. “He accepted your terms.”

Robb blinked. When the information fully sank in, a broad grin spread across his face and he clapped him on the back. “Well done,” he said, not bothering to hide his elation at the news.

“Thank you, your Grace.”   

“Ask for one of the spare chambers and get some rest – you’ve earned it. All of you.”

As Mallister and his guards nodded and walked inside the castle, Robb caught sight of Maester Vyman brushing past them. The old man shuffled in his direction, clutching a sealed letter in his wizened hands. Robb stepped towards him, but to his surprise the maester’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Pardon, your Grace, but the letter is addressed to Theon Greyjoy.”

Robb glanced at Theon, who looked just as bewildered as him. Slowly, Theon reached out and took the extended letter, turning it over in his hands. Robb could see the Greyjoy wax seal, an imprinted red kraken, affixed to the top.  

The maester hurried away and Theon broke off the wax seal. Unrolling the letter, he read whatever was written on the parchment, his eyebrows climbing progressively higher up his forehead with every word.

“Is it from your father?” asked Robb.

Theon’s dark eyes lifted and met his. “That would be impossible, since he’s dead,” he replied.  

“Oh.” Robb tried to feel some remorse for the late Balon Greyjoy, but he couldn’t summon a single spark of pity. “How?”

“Apparently he fell off a rope bridge,” said Theon, frowning. “The letter is from Asha – she says there will be a kingsmoot to determine who succeeds my father, but until then she’s taken full command of the ironborn.”

“Full command – that includes the entire fleet, am I correct?”

Theon smirked like he’d anticipated the question – which he probably had. “She already has thirty ships preparing to sail to Casterly Rock.”

“That’s…more than I’d hoped for,” admitted Robb. “Is there a catch?”

“She merely wants me to return to Pyke for the kingsmoot and back her claim to the Salt Throne.”  Theon shrugged. “When I left I had promised her my support, so I expected that…I suppose I _will_ be going to Pyke again.”

“Not right away,” said Robb. “We still need to capture Casterly Rock, which with your sister’s forces should be fairly easy. I’ll send a raven to Stannis to confirm that he’ll be attacking King’s Landing. If he does, I’ll leave the ironborn and some of my men to hold Casterly Rock and march to help him at King’s Landing. I’ll need you at least until then.”

“I wasn’t planning on leaving until you take the Lannisters' heads,” said Theon with a grin. “That’s fine – apparently Asha’s going be captaining one of her ships, so you can leave her in charge of Casterly Rock, and after you bend the knee to Stannis I’ll sail to Pyke with her.”

“You’re talking as if we’ve already seized Casterly Rock,” said Robb in amusement.  

“Well, luck seems to _finally_ be on our side, so why not?”

_Why not indeed._

 

\---

 

_Epilogue_

 

A canopy of white stars littered the night sky above Winterfell. A cold wind rushed by, making Theon shiver from where he was perched on the edge of the balustrade overlooking the garrison. The few soldiers who were still awake had lit a fire, burning brightly under the shelter of an overhang, but it was too far away for Theon to catch even the faintest glimmer of heat.

He pulled his fur cloak closer around his body just as a voice called out from behind him, “I thought I’d find you here.”

Robb moved to stand beside him, wrapped in his own set of furs. Theon could see his amusement reflected in the starlight of his eyes.

“How did you know I was here?" 

“Apart from the fact that you left the door open so the wind is blowing right into our chamber?” Robb smiled and rested his hands on the ledge. “You spent much of the day helping the soldiers’ preparations, and considering that we’re setting out on the morrow, I figured you’d be checking on them one last time.”

“Well, the idiot that collected all the arrows for transport missed the pile in the courtyard,” grumbled Theon, pointing in the approximate direction of the offending pile. 

“Forgetting one pile of arrows won’t be a fatal error,” reasoned Robb. “If the information in Jon’s letter is accurate, the Night’s Watch have started fletching new arrows anyway.”

“The question is whether Jon’s information is accurate,” said Theon pointedly. “He also mentioned that he found his soulmate and that she’s a wildling girl. I’ll believe it when we actually get to the Wall and I can express my condolences to her.”  

Robb huffed. “You and Jon haven’t seen each other in a long time. Surely you two can be civil and not insult each other the moment you reunite.”

“If you’re expecting a sappy reunion like the one you had with your sisters, it’s not going to happen.”

Robb’s expression of exasperation melted into affection. Just before they’d left Riverrun, the Hound had unexpectedly showed up and asked Robb for a ransom in return for Sansa and Arya’s safe return. Robb had paid him, but since Sandor Clegane was also Sansa’s soulmate and he’d apparently fled with Sansa from King’s Landing – Theon didn’t know the details but being stuck with the Lannisters couldn’t have been pleasant – before picking up Arya from the Brotherhood Without Banners, Robb had also offered him a place in his personal guard. 

After Sansa and Arya had flung themselves into Robb and Catelyn’s arms, laughing and crying, Sansa had urged the Hound to accept Robb’s offer, and he’d agreed – which was why Theon was now becoming adjusted to turning a corner at Winterfell and finding Sandor Clegane walking in the opposite direction, usually accompanied by Sansa twittering away about something or other.

“I would say the Others will take us all before you and Jon rush into each other’s arms, but considering that the reason why we’re going to the Wall is to fight Others, it’s not the best phrase to utilize anymore,” said Robb thoughtfully.

“I should hope the Others will _not_ take us all as soon as we reach the Wall, otherwise it’s going to be a very short battle – and not in our favour.”

“Of course not.” Robb sounded like he hadn’t even considered the possibility of the Others winning. “Stannis ordered every able-bodied soldier in the Seven Kingdoms to be sent to defend the Wall. And there have been reports of Daenerys Targaryen sailing across the Narrow Sea with her own army, plus three dragons. The Others don't stand a chance.”  

“Well, at least we won’t freeze to death,” quipped Theon.

“Or become cold enough to fall ill,” added Robb. “Because I seem to remember a certain idiot who walked out during a rainstorm in Riverrun, insisting that he would not become sick – then ran a fever after storming Casterly Rock and had to stay in bed for a fortnight.”

Theon sighed. “I already admitted I was an idiot, how often are you going to bring that up?”

Robb’s smug smile gave Theon the answer.

He sighed again. “You didn’t even mind that I became sick because it gave you the excuse of tending to me while accompanying Asha and I back to Pyke. And by that point I was barely sick anymore.”

At that, Robb looked slightly ashamed. “I did take advantage of your illness,” he conceded. “But I didn’t know whether I would have ever had another opportunity to see the Iron Islands...besides, you had promised that you’d show me the sea one day.”

He had, and Theon still couldn’t believe Robb had remembered that.  

“Well, I showed you the sea,” said Theon lightly. “What was your impression?”

Robb chewed on his lower lip. “It was – nice. Bluer than I thought it would be. I still prefer the mainland, though.”

Theon huffed a laugh. “That’s probably for the best. Asha may have allied with you as queen, but as an ironborn she doesn’t exactly want a Stark tarrying on her islands.”

“That’s fine,” said Robb with a shrug. “I trust her to not come invading my lands. But what about you?”

“What about me?” 

“You’re not a Stark – you’re her brother. Now that Balon Greyjoy is dead, there’s nothing stopping you from living on the Iron Islands. You may not be king of the Iron Islands, but surely Asha would grant you Harlaw or one of the other islands as thanks for your support in the kingsmoot."

Theon stilled and met Robb’s gaze, astonished. His blue eyes were large and earnest, with a flicker of acceptance running through them. 

_Seven hells, he genuinely thinks I want to return to Pyke._

He almost laughed aloud at the sheer absurdity of it.

“Do you know why I agreed to travel to Pyke as your envoy, even though I was your hostage and everyone around you was against the idea?” Theon asked abruptly.

Robb frowned. “Because I asked you to?”

“No – well, yes, I suppose I did go because you asked me to, but that wasn’t what I meant.” Theon swallowed. “I went because I wanted to go home. To see my home again, see if it had changed while I was away.”

“Did it change?”

“Yes and no,” Theon mused aloud. “Pyke hadn’t changed. It seemed like it did, but...it was my memories of the place that had changed over the years. In my mind, I had built my own fantasy where I triumphantly returned to the Iron Islands and everyone fell at my feet. But that’s not the ironborn way. It never was. Their culture and traditions have been the same for thousands of years, and will be for a thousand years more. Thus when I walked into the castle, they knew I didn’t belong there. My father saw it, my sister saw it, every fucking ironborn I passed saw it, but I didn’t see it until recently: that when Ned Stark took me away and raised me in Winterfell, I was no longer one of them.” 

“What are you talking about?” said Robb. “You’re an ironborn –”

“Yes, I’m _ironborn_ , but –”

“So you have the right to live among them on Pyke if you –”

“Seven _hells_ , Robb!” Theon exclaimed, “ _Pyke is not my home!_ ”

Robb’s mouth fell open. They stared at each other, breath forming white puffs of mist in the cold air. 

“Pyke is not your home,” Robb repeated slowly.  

“It was, once. Then for better or for worse, I grew up in Winterfell among Starks with completely different morals than my family, and when I returned to Pyke I might as well have been a Stark myself from the way I didn’t fit their ironborn standards. And when I went back the second time, I realized that I don’t _want_ to live on Pyke. It’s not my home. Not now, and not ever.”

“Then where is your home?” asked Robb, his voice softer than the snow beginning to gently fall over Winterfell.

“I’ve always been home,” said Theon. “I was so focused on where I thought I belonged that I never realized I didn’t need – didn’t _want_ –  to leave.”

Under Robb’s transfixed gaze, he drew his sleeve further up his arm, hissing when the wind rushed over the bare skin. On his left wrist, the name _Robb Stark_ glinted in the faint moonlight, similar to the day he’d received the mark when he first met Robb, long ago. 

“My home is wherever you are,” said Theon quietly. “Whether you’re in Winterfell or Riverrun or the fucking Wall fighting a horde of undead monsters, that’s where I’m going to be.”

Robb’s eyes widened. Theon wasn’t surprised, not when he was rarely that open with his feelings, and he inhaled sharply when he felt Robb’s gloved fingers thread through his own.

“I’m honoured,” said Robb, his voice wavering slightly. “And – if I’m being honest, I don’t want you to leave for Pyke, either.”  

“You don’t have to worry about that happening,” said Theon with a small smirk. “I’m planning on irritating you for a long while yet.”

“I look forward to it,” said Robb warmly, his free hand reaching up to cup Theon’s neck, and Theon allowed his chin to drop onto the soft fur covering Robb’s shoulder. A few frozen snowflakes drifted onto his closed eyelids and uncovered wrist, but he barely felt the cold. 

If this was what home would always feel like, he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

 


End file.
